Page 69 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“It’s alright if ye’re still upset wit him,” Olivia began, setting a hand against her mother’s shoulder. “There are times I catch myself still mourning our loss. They were yer husband an’ yer son.”
“A-Aye, they were.” Olivia’s mother passed the dress off, sobbing chuckles escaping her lips as she dug around her dress for a linen. “Gracious me–I’m going to ruin yer dress at this rate!”
Olivia immediately set the dress onto a nearby chair, bringing her mother into a tighter hug than before. The pair stood together for a long moment, her mother occasionally whimpering out a tear while Olivia’s mind raced with emotions.
“I will always have an empty place in me heart fer them,” Olivia’s mother admitted. “But, I ken yer betrothed, Olivia. And he is nay a monster o’ legend or simply a spirit o’ vengance; he is a man who couldnae escape the violence o’the highlands. As were yer faither, and yer braither.” She sighed lightly, giving Olivia another squeeze before ensuring the two separated for good. “Ah, but, ye’re not even dressed yet. Here; let me help ye get into yer gown.”
Olivia’s mother rounded the chair and unfolded the gown carefully, and Olivia couldn’t help but gasp. She hadn’t fully noticed the color until it fully revealed itself beneath candlelight; it was dyed an exquisite shade of tyrian purple, matched with glittering golden trim along the bodice. The sleeves billowed out like the white caps of waves, the neckline set just past the shoulders and hemmed in an intricate, runic design.
As the pair worked to slip the gown over Olivia’s head, she knew she had to ask. “Maither, when on earth did ye find this?”
“Elspeth had the fabric stored away,” her mother explained. “She said it was a tradition fer her side o’the family, that a woman on her wedding day would be dressed as the royal she were.”
“Then, she…?”
“We all made it,” Olivia’s mother beamed, straightening the skirt before stepping away from the mirror. “Elspeth, Flora–ye truly couldnae ask fer a better family to join hands with. Worked late in the night while ye an’ Arthur were on yer visit.”
Olivia couldn’t help but stare at the vision in the mirror. Every curve was accented perfectly, the ivory tinge of her skin in bright contrast to the deep, violet hues.
“Now, let’s see what we can do with yer…yer hair…”
Olivia turned around, unable to hold back a smile as her mother began to tear up once more. “Oh, Maither…”
“Ooh, I cannae help it!” her mother cried. “Gracious, look at me. Falling apart before the ceremony proper!”
“Ye’ll flood the keep with yer tears at this rate,” Olivia teased lightly.
The pair shared laughter between them, a lighthearted act that reassured Olivia that this was, in fact, not the end of her life. Perhaps her path wasn’t one she’d anticipated–would have willingly walked, had she been given the gift of foresight–but if she were to be truthful with herself, this was a path she wouldn’t trade for the world.
“Ye really love him,” Olivia’s mother crooned, hands cradling her daughter’s face.
“I do, Maither. I truly, sincerely do.”
Her mother eased her into a nearby chair, hands already beginning to pull strands apart for braiding. “Well, let’s nae keep him waiting, then.”
Arthur nearly fell over multiple times as Rosie wove between his legs. She had not left his side since the minute he’d gotten dressed, and bounded down the castle halls after him as theymade their way towards the back of the castle. Fergus was in hot pursuit, taking up the role of an obstacle to trip over when Rosie took a break to skip beside her uncle. “Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur! When are ye gonna tell Auntie ‘Livia ye love ‘er?”
Arthur’s hand caught against the wall as the pup bumped into his leg. “A-ah–I tell her that everyday, rosebush.”
“Aye, but I mean in front of everyone!” Rosie slipped in front of him once more, giggling madly as she did so. Arthur, meanwhile, kept his hand close to the wall, just in case he had to catch himself again. Or,whenhe inevitably had to catch himself again. “Cause when me parents got married, they said it in front of all the kinfolk who came to their celebration.”
“Aye, did they, now?”
Rosie nodded furiously.
“Well…” Arthur stroked his beard, watching as Fergus scampered further down the hall in pursuit of a phantom noise. “I suppose I’ll say it when it’s time to say it.”
This only seemed to fuel Rosie further; though Arthur couldn’t understand it, the little girl somehow grew even more frantic than before. “Buthoware ye gonna say it, Uncle Arthur? Will ye make her laugh? Are ye gonna cry while ye do it? When are ye gonna have a baby together?”
“Gracious, lass! Ye’ve got me sweatin’ over here!” Arthur quickly scooped the girl up into his arms, giving her a dramatic squeeze as she howled with laughter. “Ye’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to say it, either. And it wasn’t something he’d put too much thought into, until his little niece had brought it up. He’d promised Olivia the greatest of marriages, and he only began to realize now how unprepared he really felt.
“Uncle Arthur?” Rosie asked, shaking the man’s shoulder.
Arthur blinked, realizing their conversation had continued while he was lost in thought. “Ah…sorry, Rosie.”
“Ye never answered me question about yer baby.”
Nerves skittered across Arthur’s skin, and he set Rosie back onto the ground. “Rosie, love, babies take a lot of time and hard work to make. It may be awhile before Olivia becomes pregnant.”For a long while,Arthur kept to himself. “Why are ye so fixed on this?”
